It's All A Plot!
by dust on the wind
Summary: Prisoners of war, running a sabotage and intelligence operation right under the enemy's nose - who'd believe a crazy idea like that?
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

* * *

"Does anyone else feel like things have been way too quiet round here just lately?" said Colonel Hogan.

He was standing outside Barracks 2, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his leather jacket and a slight furrow disturbing his brow as he meditated on the unaccustomed air of tranquillity which hung over Stalag 13.

Apparently, none of the other prisoners relaxing in the morning sunshine shared his concern. They went on with whatever they were doing: writing letters, darning socks, or just drowsing.

"Don't jinx it, Colonel" said Kinch, without looking up from the book he was reading. "It's the first break we've had in months. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."

"Anyhow, it's not like we haven't had anything on," added Carter. "Addison went to Hammelburg, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, all right," said Hogan. "When one of my men goes into town to meet up with a girl from the Underground, and comes back with a fever of a hundred and two, and all he's prepared to say about it is that, no matter what the squirrel might have told us, it's all lies...well, that's a debriefing I'm not likely to forget."

Addison went red, and hung his head, while Newkirk, who was leaning against the barracks wall with his hands in his pockets, fixed him with a solemn, disapproving gaze. "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

"Not always, Newkirk. Most of the time it's you," said Kinch. "Someone else gets a chance to play around with a _Fräulein_, that's a big deal." He closed his book, keeping his place with a finger between the pages. "Colonel, I don't see what's bugging you. So things are a little slow. It won't last long. Our next assignment is probably already on its way. And even if it isn't, something else is bound to come along. It always does."

"Sure it will," burbled Carter. "Any minute now, Klink'll get a visit from some Nazi bigwig with a briefcase full of confidential papers, or a truck will turn up with a brand new secret weapon for us to blow up. Or maybe the Gestapo, or Colonel Crittendon, or..."

Newkirk cut him off with a wave of his hand. "It won't be Crittendon, anyway. It's only a month since his last foolproof escape plan went pear-shaped. It'll take him at least another couple of weeks to cock up another one."

"Don't you mean, _cook_ up?" said Carter.

"I know what I mean," replied Newkirk, his eyes gleaming between half-closed lids.

Hogan tipped back his cap, and folded his arms. "Carter may just have made my point for me. Okay, it's nice to be able to relax for a few days. But sooner or later, the war's going to kick off again, and if experience is anything to go by, the longer we wait for it, the worse it'll be when it comes."

"Well, we already ruled out Colonel Crittendon," snickered Carter, "so how bad can it be?"

"Looks like we're about to find out," said Kinch.

Hogan glanced at him, then followed the line of his gaze towards the main gate, which the guards had just opened to admit a large open-topped staff car. An army officer sat up front next to the driver; in the back seat was a man dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ridiculous little green Tyrolean hat with a feather. But none of the prisoners looked twice at him; they only had eyes for his companion, who sat forward as if she were about to spring to her feet without waiting for the car to stop. A brilliant smile illuminated her face, and she flung out her arm in a theatrical gesture which had a definite air of ownership about it.

Her voice, like the cry of some exotic bird, carried clearly across the compound: "You see, Dodo, darling. What did I tell you? Is it not simply perfect?"

The gloomy, fatalistic silence which had descended on the prisoners was broken by a weary, resigned comment from Newkirk: "One thing you have to say for Marya. She really knows how to make an entrance."

"So did Attila the Hun," said Hogan grimly.

Newkirk ignored the interjection, following his own unhappy thoughts. "I don't suppose we could keep LeBeau from finding out she's here?" he suggested. "You know how he gets whenever she turns up. I'm not sure how much of it I can take. So why don't we all just pop indoors and keep him busy till after she's gone?"

Even as he spoke, the white Russian's voice rang out again. Having descended from the car, she scarcely waited for the civilian to follow before she flung herself on him. "Darling, look around you. It's beautiful, no?"

He gazed around the camp with large, mournful eyes. "It is possibly the most squalid and miserable place I have ever seen."

"I knew you would like it," crowed Marya, snuggling closer.

Hogan uttered a grunt. "Unless LeBeau's gone deaf in the last ten minutes, I don't think we're going to be able to keep him from hearing that."

As if on cue, the door of the hut crashed open and a diminutive figure in a white apron and _toque blanche_ came flying out, with no regard for anyone who might be standing in the way. A triumphant cry broke from him: "I knew it! I knew she would come back to me!"

"Oh, she's come back all right. But I'd lay a fiver she's not here for you, LeBeau," growled Newkirk. "I don't suppose anyone knows who our other happy little day-trippers might be?"

"No idea about the civilian," replied Hogan. "But the officer's face rings a bell. I can't put my finger on it, but I'm sure I've seen him before."

"Here comes Klink," said Kinch. "Maybe now we'll find out what she's up to."

LeBeau's chin went up. "Whatever it is, it's entirely innocent."

The Kommandant, emerging from his office to greet the visitors, came to an abrupt halt at sight of the Russian woman in her showy leopard-skin coat. Before he could retreat, however, the officer stepped forward, saluted and said a few words, not quite loudly enough to be heard. Klink peered at him briefly, then enlightenment dawned; and his response was perfectly audible: "Oh, yes, of course I remember you, Colonel Sitzer. Well, fancy seeing you here again. I thought, after your last visit.." He broke off abruptly, and turned to the others, his face contorting into something resembling a smile. "Fräulein Marya - always a pleasure to welcome you to our little Stalag."

Hogan had no trouble interpreting: "I think what he's actually trying to say is, _Get out of my camp, and never come back_. Fat chance of that happening."

Klink had already turned his attention to the man in the Tyrolean hat. "Sir, I don't believe we have met, but I'm sure any friend of..."

The greeting broke off, as Marya reached out her hand and laid one suede-gloved finger on his lips. "Enough with the small talk, Klink. We have much to discuss, and much to arrange. We need to talk, in your office, in private. Come, Dodo."

She swept past the Kommandant with the unresisting Dodo. Colonel Sitzer followed, leaving Klink to bring up the rear.

"What kind of a name is Dodo, anyway?" asked Carter.

"For that bloke, it's just about right," replied Newkirk. "Any man who gets tangled up with her is headed straight for extinction."

Hogan straightened up. "We'd better listen in. Is the coffee pot in order, Kinch?"

"Should be. But won't they send for you anyway, Colonel? That's usually the first thing that happens whenever Marya comes to camp."

"Maybe. But before it happens, I'd like to get some idea of what I'm in for," replied Hogan, pausing halfway through the barracks door. "I don't like her turning up with an unknown civilian..."

"Who means nothing to her," put in LeBeau.

"...and I'd be a lot happier going in there remembering who Sitzer is..."

"She doesn't care about him, either."

"LeBeau..."

"_Oui, mon Colonel_?"

"Put a sock in it."

The reprimand went straight over the little Frenchman's head. As the others went into the barracks, he loitered outside, watching Marya until she vanished from sight; then he scampered inside to join his friends gathered around the desk in Hogan's private quarters. He squeezed himself in between Carter and Newkirk, while Kinch plugged in the speaker installed in the coffee pot, just in time to hear the Kommandant speaking.

"...so, Colonel Sitzer, how have things been with you since you were last here?"

"Why? What have you heard?" Sitzer sounded decidedly snappish. There was something in the clipped, irritable voice which struck a chord in Hogan's memory, and unconsciously he leaned closer to the coffee pot, frowning as he tried to remember.

"Nothing, sir, nothing at all," squeaked Klink. "Uh...so you're still in the same department?"

"Not exactly. Of course, no blame was assigned to me in relation to the deplorable incident which occurred on my last visit to Hammelburg, which is why my superiors offered me the opportunity to redirect my talent and expertise into other projects within the Propaganda Ministry."

Hogan snapped his fingers. "Got it. He's the guy who was here with Leslie Smythe-Beddoes, when Klink got that award and we did the radio broadcast. Considering how that ended up, no wonder he's touchy about it."

Klink was already speaking again, his discomposure manifesting in an attempt to turn the conversation. "So, Colonel, if it's not too personal a question, how is it that you are acquainted with Fräulein..."

"Just Marya, Klink. Old friends shouldn't be so formal. And we are old friends." Marya had modulated into the low, sultry tone which made stronger men than Klink start to sweat.

"Old friends. Yes," muttered Klink. "And you are...uh...friends with Colonel Sitzer, too?"

Sitzer uttered a contemptuous snort, and Marya a shriek of unrestrained mirth. "Darling, we can't stand each other," she protested. "If it wasn't for Dodo, neither of us would be here."

"I see," said Klink. "You are both here because of ...Dodo?"

"Dodo is a very special person, Klink."

The soft, deep chuckle with which Marya ended her reply was suggestive enough to cause a ripple of discomfort even amongst the listeners in the barracks. It certainly seemed to have some kind of effect on Dodo, although it was possible the man always spoke with a kind of strangulated vibrato: "Thank you, my darling. Nobody understands me the way you do. How did I ever live before we found each other?"

"Blimey, and I thought she had LeBeau by the short hairs," snickered Newkirk.

LeBeau scowled. "She's faking it."

At the look Hogan gave him, Newkirk bit back the emphatic rebuttal trembling on his lips. It was just as well, since Sitzer was speaking: "Kommandant, allow me to present Herr Theodore Hase. I'm sure you will be familiar his work."

"Oh, yes, of course," replied Klink, after a pause which was just too long. "How could you think otherwise? He's very famous for... I mean, everyone knows all about his... I was only thinking the other day, why don't we hear much about Theodore Hase these days?"

"He has no idea who I am." Theodore Hase's voice descended into the depths of tragedy. "Just as I expected. Fame is but fleeting, and the common herd quickly forget how they once hung on my every printed word."

"Herr Hase is one of Germany's greatest living writers," said Sitzer. "Author of _This Side Of Pfarrkirchen_, and _A Scandal In Bavaria_, among others. The Führer is a great admirer of his work."

"Anyone ever heard of this guy?" asked Hogan

"Yeah, Langenscheidt's been reading some of his books lately," said Kinch. "They looked kind of hokey to me. I don't get it, Colonel. Why is Marya hanging around with a writer? And why bring him here?"

Hogan gave a soft, dissatisfied grunt. "I'm sure we're about to find out. At least, as much as she wants us to."

Sitzer was still talking: "...he is extremely popular with the general public, even though he has not published anything for years."

"Writer's block." The great author was quick to his own defence. "How I have suffered! If it were not for Marya - my angel, my muse! - I might never have found the inspiration for my latest masterpiece."

"Naturally, the Ministry of Propaganda takes a keen interest in the prospect of a new work from a literary artist of Herr Hase's stature," Sitzer went on. "I can assure you, Kommandant, this may well be the great German novel of the war - a stirring tale, highlighting the courage and initiative of the brave and loyal German soldier. We have given Herr Hase our full support, and undertaken to ensure he has the co-operation of every branch of the service while he completes the necessary research."

"Which is what brings us here, Klink," said Marya.

Klink cleared his throat, in an affectation of humility. "Oh, I see. Your friend wants to gain an insight into the mind of a man for whom heroism and self-sacrifice is second nature. Well, I am honoured, and flattered, and I'll be delighted to help out in any way I can."

"Good. So, if you will send for Colonel Hogan..."

"Hogan?" The Kommandant's conscious self-effacement vanished in a squeak of affronted dignity.

Theodore Hase took over, his tone deepening to pompous condescension. "Allow me to explain, Kommandant. The setting of my novel will be a prisoner of war camp in England. Obviously, to make sure it is authentic, I wanted to observe how such places work. I can hardly travel to England to do so, but, as my darling Marya pointed out, an English camp cannot be very different to our own Stalags. She assured me that Stalag 13 would make a perfect backdrop for the story I have planned, and that your senior prisoner of war officer would be an excellent model for the lead character."

"You want to put Hogan in your book?" faltered Klink. "Forgive me for asking, but what kind of story is this?"

"That's exactly what I want to know," growled Hogan, his eyes starting to smoulder.

Apparently Dodo was only too happy to oblige. "I will tell you. Imagine, if you will, an ordinary prisoner of war camp, just like this one, with ordinary prisoners, just like yours. Only these men are not content to sit out the war as non-combatants. From within the very heart of the enemy's homeland, they set out to go on fighting the war, by whatever means they can find. Sabotage, espionage, helping other prisoners to escape - consider what a tale that would be!"

A petrified silence had fallen across the listeners in the barracks. Kinch was the first to regain the power of speech: "Did I just hear what I just heard?"

"I don't believe it!" exploded Newkirk.

"Believe it," said Hogan tersely. "She's done it again. And this time, she's really done it. The great German novel of the war is going to be all about us."

* * *

_Notes: _

_Colonel Sitzer appeared in "Who Stole My Copy Of Mein Kampf?" (Season 4)_


	2. Chapter 2

Only a brave man, or a foolhardy one, would have spoken up in Marya's defence at that moment. LeBeau, of course, was both. "You will see, there's a perfectly innocent explanation. She probably just thought it would make a good story. And she's right. It's got everything. Adventure, romance, comedy..."

"Yeah, sure," Hogan broke in. "The chapter where we're all in front of a firing squad should be hilarious."

"He's besotted," muttered Newkirk. "An absolute basket case."

LeBeau jutted out his chin. "Sometimes a man has to listen to his heart, and my heart says we should trust her."

"That's not your heart talking, mate."

Carter gave a giggle of excitement. "Gee, are we gonna be in a book? Boy, we're gonna be famous."

"In our line of business, Carter, that's not an advantage," replied Hogan.

Kinch, the only one still listening to the conversation coming from the coffee pot, looked up. "Klink's just told Schultz to fetch you, Colonel."

"Great. This should be fun." Hogan unplugged the coffee pot, and squared his shoulders. "Okay, this is how we'll play it. Marya's no fool, and she never does anything without a reason. So for now we play along, till we work out what she's up to. Now, it's pretty clear that Dodo's the key to this, so we need to find out as much about him as we can. Kinch, you said Langenscheidt's got some of his books. Reading those should be a good start. Newkirk and Carter, grab some mops and buckets and go over to the guards' barracks. Tell whoever's there that Schultz sent you over to give the place a good cleaning, and grab those books while you're there. Langenscheidt's on furlough, so they won't be missed. Kinch, get in touch with the Underground in Hammelburg, and see if they can tell you anything about him - Schultz, don't you ever knock?"

"Sorry, Colonel Hogan," puffed the big German. "Kommandant Klink wants to see you. That woman is here. You know, the Russian."

"Yeah, we saw her. What's it got to do with me?"

"Whenever the Russian woman comes to Stalag 13, it ends up having to do with you," said Schultz. "And not in a good way."

It was true. Hogan sighed. "All right, Schultz, I'm coming."

"_Colonel_..." LeBeau hesitated, then blushed. "Tell her I said hi."

Hogan cast up his eyes. "Go and take a cold shower. That's an order," he snapped, as he followed Schultz out of the office.

Halfway across the yard, Schultz stopped in his tracks. "Colonel Hogan, you know I always try to look on the bright side, no matter what happens."

"Yep, you're a real little Pollyanna," said Hogan.

"Well, when that woman turns up, I make an exception. Every time she comes here, it always ends in trouble. So I ask myself, what is she going to do this time? And the man with her, the civilian. I don't like the look of him. Who is he?"

Hogan gave a disbelieving chuckle. "You mean you didn't recognise him? Schultz, where have you been? That's Theodore Hase, the famous novelist."

"Theodore Hase? Oh, yes, I know who he is. I read one of his books, once."

"You didn't like it?"

Schultz pursed up his lips. "Let me put it this way. Have you ever tried _Schaumomelett_?"

"Can't say I have."

"It's a kind of omelette, but you have it for dessert. The way they make it, it puffs up like a soufflé, and they fill it with jam and sprinkle sugar all over it. The thing about it is, before you have it, you think it will be the best thing you ever had. But afterwards, you find you aren't quite satisfied. _Schaumomelett _is always a disappointment. And that's just how it was, when I finished reading his book. It looked good, but there was nothing really there."

"You shouldn't judge a writer by one book, Schultz," observed Hogan, as he set off again.

"Maybe not. But like I said, I don't like the look of him. He looks like a man who doesn't eat enough meat, and men like that are not to be trusted."

"You know, they say Hitler's a vegetarian."

Schultz was already lumbering up the steps of the Kommandantur, and his reply was muffled, but emphatic: "So I've heard."

As he reached the door, Hogan asked, as if from idle curiosity: "What was the book you read?"

"It was called _The Mecklenburg Falcon_. I thought it would be a thriller, but it turned out to be about bird-watching around the lakes." Schultz uttered a derisory snort and went on into the building, where he paused to knock on the inner door before opening it and announcing loudly: "Colonel Hogan is here, _Herr Kommandant_."

"Send him in." Klink sounded decidedly peevish, and for once Hogan had a brief flash of sympathy for the Iron Colonel. He was feeling kind of edgy himself. But he strolled into the office as if he had nothing important on his mind.

"You sent for me, sir?" he said, with his usual breezy good humour.

"Yes, Hogan." The Kommandant was standing behind his desk, clasping and unclasping his hands. "We have a very distinguished visitor - Theodore Hase, the famous German writer. I'm sure you remember Colonel Sitzer, from the Ministry of Propaganda. And of course, you know..."

"Hogan, darling!" Without waiting for him to finish, Marya enfolded him in a heavily perfumed embrace. "I know, you have been longing to hold me in your arms again. Do not hold back just because Dodo is watching. A little suffering will do wonders for his creative genius."

Sometimes Hogan wondered whether she knew how maddening she could be. He was pretty sure she did, and if they'd been alone, he knew exactly how he would have responded; but in the presence of witnesses, the smart tactic was to keep his cool and act as if her provocation had no effect on him. He couldn't salute, as Marya had his arms pinned down, but he gave Sitzer an amiable nod. "Of course I remember you, sir. Gee whiz, it seems like only yesterday you were here, doing a radio show with that lady - what was her name again?"

"Leslie Smythe-Beddoes," growled Sitzer. "And I assure you, Hogan, I have not forgotten you either."

Hogan remained impervious. "Very kind of you to say so, sir. So, what brings you back to Stalag 13?"

Sitzer glowered at him. "It was not my idea. As I have already informed Herr Hase, I have the gravest reservations about this whole affair."

"Don't be a wet blanket, Sitzer," sighed Marya, releasing Hogan in order to express her scorn with a swift, expansive wave of both hands. "Dodo, what do you think of my beautiful Hogan. Handsome, no?"

"His eyes are very close together," replied Hase, after a brief, grumpy glance.

"A sign of intelligence. Hogan, say something."

"Gosh, I wouldn't know what to say," mumbled Hogan, as if embarrassed. "I never met a famous author before. Say, Mr. Hase, could I have your autograph?"

The famous author's despondent air lifted slightly. "You have heard of me?"

"Are you kidding? That book you wrote about the birdwatcher - _The Mecklenburg Falcon_ - boy, if I read that once, I read it a dozen times."

"You read that?" Hase flushed, and his eyes brightened. "Did you like it?"

"Like it? Words can't describe the effect your book had on me. Golly, wait till I tell the fellers back in the barracks I actually talked to you. They'll never believe it."

"_They've_ heard of me?" A smile broke across the writer's melancholy features.

"Of course they have. If you'd only seen us all last winter, gathered round the stove in the barracks before lights out, taking turns reading aloud from _A Scandal in Bavaria_."

"Most interesting, Colonel Hogan," Sitzer put in. "You devoted the whole of winter to a novella scarcely twenty-five thousand words in length?"

_Too much egg in the batter again. I gotta stop doing that_, thought Hogan. But he made a quick recover. "You don't rush through a work of that kind of depth and meaning, sir. There was a lot to take in: themes, and subtexts, and organic unity, and hyperbole, and ironic metaphor..."

As he heard this, Hase's mouth fell open. "You found all of this in my book?" he stammered.

"And so much more." Hogan regarded him with a wry half-smile. "Now, don't tell me we got it wrong."

"Well... that is...I mean, of course, you are quite right, Colonel Hogan," replied Dodo, grasping for nonchalance, and failing. "I was just surprised. Not many readers are as perceptive as you." He hesitated, then went on tentatively: "Did you happen to notice anything else when you and your men were reading?"

"Well, as a matter of fact..." Hogan began; but Marya spared him any further flights of fantasy.

"Please, Hogan," she complained, "you're giving me a headache. Why can't you just let it be what it is, a fun story about a Bavarian prince and an exotic dancer?"

Klink, who had been listening in uneasy silence, perked up at this tantalising morsel; but Hogan resisted the temptation, and got down to business. "Sorry, I got carried away for a moment there. So, how come you're visiting our little camp, sir?"

"Research," said Marya, turning on the sweet smile which always meant trouble, and running her fingers down Hase's arm. "Dodo, tell Hogan about the book you're writing now. I am sure he will find it fascinating."

"Ah, yes." It seemed to Hogan's eye as though Hase's enthusiasm dimmed; but it was scarcely for a moment before the author went on, with renewed effusiveness: "My next novel will be a wartime adventure, in which..."

"One moment, Herr Hase." Sitzer stepped forward, holding up one finger. "We have already spoken of this, and we agreed that a certain degree of discretion is required. I have had dealings with Colonel Hogan before." He glanced at Hogan, then leaned forward and added _sotto voce_: "It is not wise to give him ideas."

Marya laughed scornfully. "Sitzer, you worry too much. What do you think, that Hogan will take Dodo's story, and try to make it real?"

"I think it is better to take no chances," replied Sitzer. "All you need to know, Colonel Hogan, is that Herr Hase will be here for several days, studying the routine of a typical prisoner of war camp, and observing the prisoners in their natural environment, so to speak."

The Kommandant, seeing an opportunity to assert his authority, tried to do so: "And let me make it clear, Hogan, your men are to be on their best behaviour."

"No, please, Colonel Klink," Hase protested. "I want my novel to reflect the realities of a prisoner's life. For this reason, I must see them with all their faults and failings, warts and all, as the English say."

"Oh, we can do warts and all," said Hogan cheerfully. "In fact, we're real good at it. You just let us know what kind of bad behaviour you want, and I can promise you my boys'll be happy to play along."

"Hogan!" Klink's hands clenched up; if there hadn't been company present, he might have stamped his foot.

"No, that is not what I want either," said Hase. "Your men should just be themselves, and act as though we are not there."

"Sounds a little inhospitable, but I guess we could do it," replied Hogan, after a moment of thought. "It'll be kind of dull, though. I don't know what you're expecting, but nothing exciting ever happens round here."

Sitzer broke in before either Klink or Hase could respond: "Tell that to Leslie Smythe-Beddoes. If you can find her." He gazed at Hogan, as if trying to see past the affable exterior to discern what lay behind. "You seem very eager to co-operate, Colonel Hogan. It strikes me as unusual for an Allied officer to be so helpful to our side."

Marya gave voice to a particularly Russian noise of contempt. "Oh, Sitzer, please. Great literature knows no borders. Dodo's work belongs to the whole world. If Hogan turns him away, his most significant work may never be written. Do you want this on your conscience? Hogan, darling, if you need time to think about it, we do not have to leave at once. Let Dodo try to convince you. Or if he can't, perhaps I can."

She allowed one eyelid to drop in a slow, conspiratorial wink, and once again Hogan had to suppress his instinctive reaction; but the thoughtful frown on his brow was a little sterner than it needed to be.

"Actually, Colonel Sitzer makes a pretty valid point," he said at last. "I'd better consult my men before I make a decision, in case they have any objections. I'll go and speak to them right now - with your permission, Kommandant."

It seemed as though Klink glanced at Marya for permission before he replied. "Yes, Hogan, you can go. Dismissed."

"For now," added Marya.

Hogan, halfway out the door, paused to look over his shoulder. For a few seconds, their eyes met, sparking like flint on steel; then he went on his way.

He had to admit it. Even though he didn't trust her, there was something exhilarating about dealing with Marya. Whatever kind of devious plot she was working, however infuriating she might be, one thing was for sure: it wouldn't be dull.


	3. Chapter 3

_Note to Jinzle: well-spotted. There are more in this chapter, although one of them is a little obscure..._

* * *

Sergeant Schultz was making his afternoon rounds.

All day, he had been extra diligent in carrying out his duties, because there were visitors in camp, and the Kommandant was extremely touchy and even more demanding than usual. Moreover, whenever the Russian woman came to Stalag 13, it never took long for something bad to happen. If Schultz wanted to avoid being hit by flying shrapnel, he needed to know when to duck.

Still, all seemed to be _in Ordnung_ around the camp. True, it was very noisy in Barracks 4, where the weekly tic-tac-toe tournament had descended into a series of baseless appeals to the referee and a lot of not very nice name-calling. As for the choir practice in Barracks 10, Schultz knew better than to mess with them; he could only hope their energetic rendition of "Land of Hope and Glory" wouldn't reach the Kommandant's ears. But apart from those little pockets of bad behaviour, everything was peaceful.

It was even quiet in Barracks 2. Too quiet. Much too quiet.

Schultz stood irresolute, his fingers outstretched towards the door. Did he really need to know what they were up to in there? Wouldn't it be better if, later on, he could truthfully plead complete ignorance?

On the other hand, how could he claim to know nothing, if he didn't know what he was supposed to know nothing about?

He squared his broad shoulders, flung the door open and uttered a strident enquiry: "What's going on in here?"

"Shh." Newkirk held up one finger in admonishment, but didn't take his eyes of the open book on the table in front of him, propped up against an old tin can.

"Sorry," mumbled Schultz. "But I must know, what are you all doing?"

This time, Newkirk looked up, mildly exasperated. "What's it ruddy well look like, Schultz?"

Schultz peered around the barracks. About half the occupants were there: Carter, flat on his stomach on Newkirk's bunk, deeply immersed in what must be a fairly lurid tale, going by the cover illustration; LeBeau, stirring a pot with one hand while the other held a bright-yellow paperback; Addison, Brodkin, Walters, all of them similarly occupied. In all the time Schultz had been at Stalag 13, he'd never seen them engaged in such harmless activity. It could mean only one thing.

"Monkey business," rumbled Schultz.

LeBeau uttered a scornful laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. Monkeys can't read."

"They certainly couldn't read a mess like this," said Newkirk, pushing his book away. "Why you Germans insist on using this useless bloody alphabet of yours is beyond me. It looks like a black-beetle got drunk, fell into a bottle of ink, then crawled out and staggered off home to the missus."

Immediately, Schultz went on the defensive. "There is nothing wrong with our alphabet. It is perfectly easy to read, and very elegant, and extremely German."

A ripple of scorn went round the barracks, and Newkirk rolled his eyes. "That last one's not really a selling point, Schultz. Not round here." He flicked over a couple of pages. "Tell you what. If it's so easy, why don't you show us how it's done?"

"Reading aloud to the prisoners is against regulations," replied Schultz with dignity.

"And we all know what a stickler you are for the rules." Newkirk tilted his head, calculating his next move. "I've got five marks says you can't make head nor tail of it either."

"Oh, is that so? Well, then, I will take your money," chortled Schultz. "What book is it, anyway?"

Newkirk turned the book over and squinted at the title printed in fantastically elaborate gold lettering on the cover. "It's called _The Famous Spree Whale_, by Theodore Hase."

"Oh, what bad luck," said Schultz, patting his hands over all the pockets in his uniform. "I seem to have lost my glasses. Maybe I left them in the sergeant's mess. I'd better go and look for them." And without further ado, he made his escape.

"Was that Schultz's voice I just heard?" Hogan had emerged from his office.

"You just missed him, _mon Colonel_," said LeBeau. "Once he heard whose books we're reading, he couldn't get out fast enough."

"That's our Schultz," observed Newkirk. "Any danger of the conversation turning intellectual, and he's off like a scalded weasel."

"What did you expect, that he'd stay and read it for you?"

"Well, it was worth a try," replied Newkirk, with a philosophical shrug.

Hogan turned a severe look on him. "Haven't you finished that yet?"

"I'm doing my best. It takes a bit of an effort, getting over all those twenty-syllable words, especially since Carter's hogging the dictionary." Newkirk raised his voice at the end, and glared at the recumbent figure occupying the top bunk. Getting no response, he turned his attention back to the colonel. "What's your opinion, Colonel?"

Hogan laid _A Scandal in Bavaria _on the table. "I hate to admit it," he said, "but Hase's got talent. For a German comedy, it's pretty funny."

"Didn't Marya say it was about an exotic dancer? Sounds a bit saucy," remarked Newkirk.

"Not so much," said Hogan. "It's all kind of innocent. Member of royal family falls for snake dancer, she turns him down, he joins the cabaret so he can keep chasing her. But the story's just an excuse for some social satire and a few bad jokes about the upper classes. I wouldn't call it great literature, but it's got some laughs in it."

"Sounds a bit lightweight for - what was it that bloke Sitzer called him - _the great German novelist_."

"Something like that. But you can't take anything Sitzer says as gospel. He's basically an over-promoted ad man, and it's his job to talk up the product. Anyway, the Nazis have done an outstanding job of thinning out the herd, as far as artists in general are concerned. Hase might just be the best of what's left. And it seems to me he's pretty good."

Newkirk leaned back, and folded his arms. "Actually, sir, mine isn't half bad either. Not exactly my cup of tea, it's all a bit airy-fairy for my taste. I mean, who'd be daft enough to believe a whale would swim all the way up the river to Berlin? Still, there's some silly beggars think there's a monster living in Loch Ness, which just goes to show."

Hogan grinned at him. "It's no less plausible than the book he's working on now. Prisoners of war, running a sabotage and intelligence operation - crazy, right?"

"Absolutely bonkers, sir."

"Well, I think he's terrible." LeBeau uttered a derisive snort, and brandished his paperback. "This is one of the worst books I ever read. So he made a trip across the Alps in a hot-air balloon. Who cares?" He tossed the book onto the table, and went back to tend to his stew, while Hogan picked up the little volume.

"_The Great Gasbag_," he said, " I'm starting to see a pattern here. I guess Hase's titles gain something in translation."

"No matter what language it's in, it's the perfect title, because he's full of wind," growled LeBeau, stirring the pot vigorously enough to make the contents spill over.

Newkirk regarded him with a malicious smirk. "You wouldn't be jealous of Dodo, by any chance?"

"Jealous? Of him?" LeBeau dismissed the idea with an expressive hand gesture.

The Englishman chuckled, but at a glance from Hogan, he turned his attention elsewhere. "What about yours, Carter? What's it like?"

Carter just gave a preoccupied grunt in reply, and kept reading.

"I guess that's a thumbs up," observed Hogan. "Hey, Kinch. Did you get anything?"

The bunk over the tunnel entrance had ascended, with the usual soft rattle, to let Kinch come up. "Not a lot, Colonel," he replied. "I got through to Otto. He's heard of Theodore Hase, but I don't think he's a big fan. Seems Hase started out during the twenties, writing for one of the Berlin papers. He came up with a set of fictional characters and used them to make fun of the government and society in general. After a year or so he put them all together in his first book..."

"Let me guess. _All This, And Bremen Too_?" said Hogan. "_The Scarlet Lederhosen_? Or how about _A Portrait Of The Kaiser As A Young Man_?"

Kinch gave a soft chuckle. "_The Adventures of Brunhilda the Milkmaid_. Which just happens to be the one I've been reading. I can see why she made a hit with the public."

Nothing else had roused Carter, but that got through, and he looked up. "Hey, can I have that after you? I'll swap you for _Brunhilda Meets The Pirate King_."

"Well, that explains why Carter's been so quiet this afternoon," observed Newkirk. "Makes a nice change. Enjoying it, are you, Andrew?"

"It's great," replied Carter, wide-eyed with enthusiasm. "Boy, the stuff she gets up to...! I hope she's going to be in our book, that'd be neat."

"There were a few Brunhilda books, all of them best-sellers," Kinch went on. "Hase did pretty well out of them, as well as his other novels. Lived the high life for a while. But then he stopped writing fiction, and went on to nature stories and travelogues, which didn't go down so well. His last couple of books hardly sold, and he dropped out of the public eye. In fact, Otto thought he'd died, or moved to Lüneburg, or gone insane. Or all three."

Hogan still had in his hand the book LeBeau had rejected so comprehensively. He flicked over a few pages. "Published in 1937," he murmured. "_A Scandal in Bavaria_ came out in 1931. Newkirk, what's the date on yours?"

"Couple of years before that, sir," said Newkirk.

"I think it's starting to make sense." Hogan picked up the scarlet-jacketed _Scandal. _"Hase was writing nice little satirical comedies about German society. Then the Nazis came to power, and while they didn't mind him poking fun at the old order, they wouldn't have been too happy if he had a crack at them. And Hase knew it. So he changed his style to something a little safer, but birdwatching and balloon rides didn't go down so well with the public."

He frowned over the exotic-looking illustration cover illustration. "None of this explains why Marya's interested in him. What's her angle in this?"

"Who says she's got an angle?" demanded LeBeau, with a pugnacious lift of his chin.

"She's always got an angle. Right now, as far as I can see, there are two possibilities. Either she's running some scheme or other, or she's actually got a thing going for Hase."

"What do you think she's up to?" asked Kinch, cutting off LeBeau's indignant repudiation of the second option.

The crease between Hogan's eyebrows deepened. "I guess we'll find out when she's ready to tell us. In the meantime, we'd better watch our backs. Starting right now, I want to know where she is and what she's doing, at all times."

Right on cue, the door was flung open. "_Achtung_!" bellowed Schultz. Then he scuttled sideways, just in time. Marya's entrances tended to be hazardous to anyone standing in her way.

"And this, Dodo, is where your characters spend their lives," she announced, taking possession of the centre of the barracks.

"Uh, Colonel... right now, she's here," said Carter. Hogan sent him a withering glare, then reset his expression to its blandest setting, as Hase, Klink and a clearly unenthused Sitzer trailed in behind the Russian.

"As you can see, the accommodation is quite adequate to the needs of the prisoners," said Klink, with a vague, all-encompassing gesture. "In fact, I would venture to speculate that our barracks are actually more comfortable than anything provided to our men by the Allies."

Hase looked around, taking in the uninspiring decor. "It's very dreary. No colour, no interest, nothing to lighten the atmosphere."

"So much the better, darling. This way your readers will not be dazzled by one of your brilliant settings. The characters are far more important in this story." Marya glanced at Hogan. He couldn't be certain, but he got a fleeting impression of one long-lashed eyelid winking at him.

Dodo redirected his attention to focus on the characters. Carter went pink and fidgeted; Kinch leaned against the bunk over the tunnel in a casual manner; Newkirk gave the writer a chummy grin, and LeBeau a dark, antagonistic scowl. Finally Hase's scrutiny reached Hogan, and rested there for a moment.

"You are right, as always, Marya," he conceded. "A dull background will allow my characters to shine more brightly. Already I see them coming to life in my mind. They will be ordinary men, plain, commonplace men, just like any other men..."

"Charming," muttered Newkirk.

"... but each with his own individual qualities which will enable him, when the time comes, to prove how truly heroic the most ordinary men can be." Hase's gaze turned upwards, and he extended one hand in a gesture of acclaim.

Hogan allowed his brow to furrow, and a plaintive note entered his voice: "Gosh, you're not going to kill us off, are you?"

"Not unless the story demands it," replied Hase after a moment of thought. "But sometimes sacrifices must be made."

Sitzer cleared his throat. "So, you have seen how the prisoners live, Herr Hase. Shall we continue our tour? If you see the whole camp today, we may be able to return to Berlin tonight."

But Marya brushed his suggestion aside with a languid wave. "Don't be such a bore, Sitzer. We only just got here. Besides, you know Dodo needs his sleep before starting off again. Dodo, did you remember to bring your sleeping pills?"

"Of course I did. Without them I would not be able to close my eyes, all night." Hase finished with a sigh.

"You must have a light supper, and then a glass of warm milk, and go to bed early," said Marya, in a sweet, solicitous tone which instantly switched Hogan's internal early warning systems to full alert. "Klink, it would be best if Dodo slept in your quarters. The atmosphere there is so much more restful than the VIP hut. I will stay with him to make sure he is not disturbed, but everyone else must stay away. You don't mind, do you?"

"You want me to move out of my own quarters?" Klink drew himself up, a flash of pompous indignation illuminating his monocle.

Hase's melancholy aspect dissolved into a beaming smile of pure gratitude. "How kind of you, Colonel Klink. I knew from the moment we met that you understand what it is like to be afflicted with an artistic temperament. I never dreamed of finding a kindred spirit in such a place as this. Sir, I accept your very generous offer."

In the face of this pre-emptive strike, Klink had no room to manoeuvre. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then produced a feeble smile. "My pleasure," he muttered. "If Colonel Sitzer does not object to sharing the VIP hut..."

Sitzer gave Marya a searching look, which she parried with an ingenuous, self-satisfied smile. Apparently baffled, he conceded, though ungraciously: "I have no objection."

"There, Dodo. You will be fast asleep by half past nine," proclaimed the Russian buoyantly. "And tomorrow you can spend the whole day getting to know Hogan and his men. It will be fun, Hogan, no?"

She gave Hogan a playful slap on the chest, which he ignored. "Yeah, this place is a barrel of laughs," he replied, completely deadpan.

"You seem to be under a misapprehension, _Fräulein_," said Sitzer. "We are not here for fun."

"You must have a lot of friends, Sitzer," the Russian tossed back. "You're such a happy person. Come, Dodo, we should go, before anyone starts enjoying themselves."

She took Hase's arm and started towards the door; but a question from Hogan delayed their exit: "By the way, sir, we've noticed you have a real knack for catchy titles, and the men were curious. Any chance you could tell us what your new one's going to be called?"

Hase drew himself up. "Well, I have an idea about that. A good title is very important, of course. It has to catch the reader's attention, and make them want to know more. So it should be both unique and memorable, and contain some hint of what the reader can expect. For this one, I have decided to include the name of my main character, Major Heidelberger, the Luftwaffe officer who turns his group of fellow prisoners into a fighting force. My novel will be called..._Heidelberger's Heroes_."

A muffled snort came from somewhere at the other end of the barracks. Carter went red with suppressed laughter, and Newkirk's shoulders shook. But Hogan didn't miss a beat.

"You know something, Mr Hase?" he said in a thoughtful tone. "You might just have something there."

* * *

_It should go without saying that Dodo's trip over the Alps was entirely imaginary, as the first successful balloon crossing took place in 1972. Chances are he never went birdwatching at Mecklenburg, either... _


	4. Chapter 4

At exactly twenty-one hundred hours, in accordance with camp regulations, the lights in all the barracks went out. Ten minutes later, one of the guards opened the door of Barracks 2 and shone his flashlight around to make sure every bunk was occupied. Satisfied, he left, slamming the door behind him.

"Bloody goons. They just don't care, do they?" grumbled Newkirk. He rolled out of his bunk, his nightshirt flapping round his bare ankles, and opened the door a fraction, just enough to see if any guards were still lurking nearby. After a few seconds, he nodded to Carter, who flitted across the barracks to Hogan's quarters.

"All clear, Colonel," he whispered.

Hogan came out, still in his uniform. "Thanks, Carter. Now, all of you go back to bed, and don't panic if I'm gone for a while. I don't know what to expect, so I've got no idea how long this will take."

"I still think there's more to this, Colonel," said Kinch. "I mean, telling you she'd be alone tonight, right in front of Klink and Sitzer - that's pretty brazen, even for Marya. Are you sure you should take the chance?"

"I'm with you, Kinch. She's up to something, and knowing her, it's dodgy," added Newkirk.

"Who asked you?" muttered LeBeau under his breath.

Hogan zipped up his jacket with a steady hand. "Okay, I'll admit it's a risk. That's why I'm going to scout it out thoroughly before I go in. If anything looks suspicious, I'll back off. But it seems to me the only way of finding out what she's up to is to ask her, and hope that for once she gives me a straight answer. Besides, if she was selling us out, I don't think the Propaganda Ministry would be her first port of call."

Kinch, still not happy, folded his arms. "Can't you at least go through the tunnel instead of strolling across the yard in plain sight?"

"Better not. Marya may already have figured out that the tunnels exist, but I'd rather she didn't know where any of the entrances are, for now."

LeBeau fidgeted, but didn't say anything; probably, as Hogan surmised, because if anyone had given away the existence of the tunnel network, the infatuated Frenchman was the most likely culprit.

"What'll you do if you run into some of the goons?" asked Carter.

Newkirk snickered. "Same as he always does - give 'em a bit of the old rhubarb, tell 'em they're doing a bang-up job, and scarper."

"Well, gee, Newkirk," replied Carter plaintively, "there's no need for that kind of language."

He returned to his bunk, while Hogan turned his collar up, pulled his cap forward over his eyes, and took Newkirk's place at the door. As soon as the searchlight had passed by, he slid out of the hut and made his way to the far end of the building. From there he crossed to the water tower, where he paused, leaning against one of its supports while he scanned the open ground between the barracks and the administration hut. With blackout conditions in force, the only illumination apart from the infrequent passes of the searchlight came from a cloud-diffused first quarter moon. It made after-hours excursions like this easier, but Hogan knew it didn't pay to get complacent. Only when he was sure the sentries on the gate were not paying attention did Hogan proceed, heading for the shadowy space behind the Kommandantur.

Luck wasn't with him tonight. Just before he reached cover, a bulky figure loomed out of the darkness. Hogan stopped dead, his heart leaping into his throat, while the other man staggered back, recovered, peered at him, and drew a deep breath of relief. "Colonel Hogan! Thank goodness. For a moment I thought you were the Kommandant."

"For Pete's sake, Schultz," Hogan broke out, in a fierce whisper, "what are you doing sneaking round in the dark?"

"Hiding from the big shot," grumbled Schultz. "All day he has been in a terrible mood. It's not my fault the Russian woman has moved into his quarters, but he is taking it out on me, just like he always does. It is all her fault. I wish she would stay away from here."

"She doesn't exactly make things comfortable for us, either."

"With respect, Colonel Hogan, it is worse for me than it is for you. I have to put up with the Kommandant's bad temper all the time. At least you can get away from all of this by going to the barracks...which is...where you should be right now." Schultz trailed off in sudden consternation, then stuttered back into frantic speech: "Colonel Hogan! What are you doing out of the barracks after lights out?

"Just going to pay a call on a friend. It won't take long."

"Oh, please, Colonel Hogan, don't make any more trouble tonight. Isn't there enough already?"

"More than enough, Schultz. That's the point." Hogan gripped Schultz by the shoulder and propelled him into the full shadow of the building. "Look, we both know she's bad news, right?"

"Right."

"So the sooner she's gone, the better, right?"

"Right."

"So the best way to get rid of her is for me to find out what she wants, and see that she gets it, right?"

"It won't involve any explosions, will it?" ventured Schultz, after a moment of deep thought. "Because one time when she came here, a fuel depot blew up, and then the next time, there was a rocket..."

"Okay, so it happened twice. But think of it like lightning. If it hits twice in the same place, what are the chances of a third one? Gotta be pretty close to zero, right?"

Schultz uttered a low rumble of discontent, but he never got the chance to express his opinion on the odds of a third lightning strike, as a querulous cry sounded across the yard: "Schultz!"

"It's the Kommandant," whispered the guard, slipping instantly from adversary to accomplice. "What should we do?"

Hogan nudged him towards the source of the summons. "The last thing we need is for Klink to be wandering round while I'm trying to talk to Marya. You go and keep him busy."

"Me, keep him busy? Oh, no, please. I'd rather not."

"Fine," shrugged Hogan. "I'll take care of Klink, and you can go talk to Marya."

"I'll keep Klink busy," mumbled Schultz. He straightened his shoulders, clutched his rifle in both hands, and stepped out of the shadows.

"Schuuuultz!"

The Kommandant's tall, stooping figure came into view, and Hogan flattened himself against the wall, while Schultz hurried forward to intercept. "I'm here, _Herr Kommandant_."

"Where have you been?" demanded Klink. "As if it isn't bad enough having that woman here, now I have to chase you all over the camp."

"Sorry, _Herr Kommandant_." Schultz had planted his considerable mass directly in front of his commanding officer. "I was just...making sure everything was in order in the VIP hut, since you will be sleeping there."

"Can you believe the nerve of that woman, turning me out of my own quarters? I'm sure I won't sleep a wink, all night. Schultz, did you make sure the bed was thoroughly aired?"

"Begging your pardon, _Herr Kommandant_, but you gave me no order."

"Do I have to tell you everything? You should have used your own initiative, as soon as you knew I was going to spend the night there."

"But I didn't know - I mean, there was no time after I knew..."

"Huh! There's always an excuse. Well, it's too late now. Go and put in a hot-water bottle. That should take the chill off the sheets."

"_Bitte, Herr Kommandant_, I believe the writer has your hot-water bottle."

Klink threw up his hands, barely missing Schultz with his riding crop. "Unbelievable. "It never ceases to amaze me, the selfishness of some people. He's got my quarters, my bed, and now my hot-water bottle. No doubt tomorrow morning he'll have my breakfast as well."

"You can always come to the sergeants' mess for breakfast, _Herr Kommandant_," suggested Schultz. He had started edging sideways, forcing Klink to turn away from where Hogan was lurking.

The Kommandant's voice rose into a quiver of outraged dignity. "Eat with the men? Schultz, have you lost your wits? Tell the cook to send something over to the VIP hut at seven o'clock tomorrow morning. Nothing elaborate, just some croissants and marmalade, sausage and eggs, and a pot of coffee. Real coffee, not that ersatz rubbish the men get..."

Hogan didn't wait to hear the rest of Klink's breakfast order. Taking advantage of the distraction, he stole off to make his way around the back of the building and reach the Kommandant's private quarters at the other side. The casement window of Klink's bedroom had been left open in spite of the evening chill, and Hogan paused in case Hase was still awake; but seeing no signs of activity, he continued on to the corner, where he stopped once again to reconnoitre the ground ahead.

In defiance of the blackout governing the rest of the camp, a narrow streak of light, escaping from a carelessly drawn curtain, shone across the ground under the window. There was no sentry on guard at the front entrance. Marya, resourceful as always, must have gotten rid of him, to clear the way for her expected caller. After one last look around, Hogan headed for the door.

Within a few paces, he stopped. Someone was approaching from the other direction.

Hogan made a quick retreat around the corner of the building, listening as the newcomer's boots crunched across the gravel and continued up the two steps leading to the Kommandant's door. He heard a cautious knock, followed by the door opening. A low, seductive voice spoke: "Darling, what took you so long? I started to think you were not coming."

_I don't believe it,_ thought Hogan. _Marya...and Sitzer?_

For several seconds, he felt nothing but pure amazement. Then his perpetual mistrust of Marya kicked in. Whatever was going on in there, he had to know about it. He crept to the window, keeping low; and, crouching beneath it, raised his head for a brief, surreptitious look inside.

He could see Marya, draped across the couch in one of those disconcertingly frivolous négligées she seemed to consider the proper attire for receiving late visitors; her cool, amused gaze fixed on Sitzer, who was pacing back and forth in an agitated manner.

Marya held out her hand, and Sitzer, after a brief hesitation, seated himself gingerly at the other end of the couch, his whole attitude indicating that he was ready to take flight at a moment's notice. He said something to her, and she replied, but from outside it was impossible for Hogan to make out a word of it.

He needed to get closer, and there was only one way. Returning to the open bedroom window, he drew the curtain aside to peer into the dim interior. Then he hoisted himself over the sill, and tiptoed past the bed where the lengthy form of the slumbering author could just be made out. Hase didn't even stir as Hogan slipped out into the short corridor.

Feeling his way in the darkness, he found his way to the sitting-room door, and pressed his ear against the gap between the door and the frame. He couldn't hear a thing. Apparently they'd run out of conversation, or found something else to keep them occupied.

Without conscious effort, Hogan's hand found the door handle, and half-turned it before he realised what he was doing. He hesitated, tightened his grip, then abruptly came to his senses. Whatever Marya and Sitzer were doing, he'd be crazy to go in there. Even opening the door enough to spy on them wasn't worth the risk.

He released the handle, backed away, and collided with an unexpected mass which had somehow materialised behind him. A soft, stifled grunt escaped him, echoed by a half-hysterical gasp from the other party, who clutched at Hogan to save himself from falling over. Both of them teetered, then Hogan regained his balance, grasped Dodo by the arm, and hustled him into the bedroom.

"Quiet!" he hissed. Hase, just visible in the dim light from outside, opened his lips to respond, but closed them again, and gave a jerky nod. Then, at a gesture from Hogan, he dived into bed, and pulled the bedclothes over his ears, leaving only his nightcap exposed. Hogan got behind the door.

A glow of yellow light filled the passage. He heard soft footsteps, and his nostrils twitched as a sweet, exotic perfume reached them; and he drew back as far as he could, and held his breath so as to make no sound.

She stood in the doorway for what seemed an eternity before she retreated. "You see, Sitzer? I told you it was nothing. Now, where were we...?"

The sitting-room door closed behind her, cutting off the light.

"Has she gone?" whispered Hase, emerging from the bedclothes like a nervous groundhog.

Hogan edged out of hiding, and cautiously checked the passage. "Yeah."

The author heaved a theatrical sigh. "_Gott sei Dank_. If you knew what I've been through..."

"I think I have some idea," Hogan began, but Dodo interrupted him.

"Colonel Hogan, I must talk to you, as soon as possible. But not here. Any minute she could come back, and then all hope is at an end."

"Okay, calm down," muttered Hogan. "What's the trouble?"

"It's her. Marya." Hase clasped the coverlet with both hands. "I think she's a Gestapo agent, spying on me. And unless you help me, I'm doomed."

* * *

_Note: LeBeau did in fact let Marya know the tunnels existed, by waving to her from the dog-pen entrance in "The Hostage" (Season 3). This might account for her complete lack of surprise when she saw Hogan come up from under the stove in Klink's quarters in "Fat Hermann, Go Home" (Season 5). However, that's in the future as far as this story goes._

_In canon, the Heroes don't take a consistent approach to the risk of being caught out of the barracks after lights out. In some episodes they arrange a diversion; on other occasions they just trust to luck. On this occasion, Hogan decided to take his chances, and it paid off, at least till he ran into Schultz._


End file.
